


Authority

by crimsonepitaph



Series: 2016 Writing Project [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Crushes, Fluff and Smut, M/M, President Jensen, Special Agent Padalecki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:25:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonepitaph/pseuds/crimsonepitaph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen has a crush on Special Agent Padalecki, the man temporarily assigned as head of security on the president's detail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Authority

**Author's Note:**

> Note #1: A big thank you to borgmama1of5 for the beta! As always, she improved the story!
> 
> Note #2: This is the first part of what I call my summer writing project. It's self-indulgent, and feel-good, and ... whatever. Literally. Angst, fluff, smut...I don't know, I have no plans, just to write freely what comes to my mind. It will probably involve uniforms. At some point. At any point. :D The plan is just to have fun, honestly.

“This is Special Agent Padalecki, Secret Service,” Danni says.

It’s a sentence. A perfectly normal one. But still, Jensen has trouble finding the right reply, despite the fact that, in actuality, talking is his job.

Jensen does, eventually, get out words – just a split-second too late to pretend that the six-foot-four muscle package in front of him isn’t a reward from God for all the hours he’s been putting in lately.

“Great to meet you, Agent Padalecki,” Jensen replies steadily.

The guy nods, gives a reserved nod. It’s formal, as formal as it can be without being outright frosty.

They shake hands, and Padalecki exits Jensen’s office with the rest of Jensen’s Secret Service detail. Only Danneel remains, sprawled on one of the small couches in the Oval office.

“Danni?”

“Yeah.”

“I hate you.”

Danneel doesn’t dignify that with a response, just hums happily.

“I mean it, I really hate you.”

“You’ll thank me one day,” she says, watching the door that Padalecki just walked out.

 “Yeah, when they fire me for sexual harassment.”

Danni rolls her eyes.

“The President can’t be _fired_.”

Point taken. Jensen sits down across from her.

“I seem to remember there was something more important on the agenda,” Jensen sighs.

“More important than a fantastic ass? I doubt it.”

“Danni…”

“Yeah, yeah. You, Tarzan, me, Chief of Staff. Got it,” she replies, already reaching for the folders on the small table.

She begins talking, presenting the matters on the President’s agenda for today. Jensen’s proud of the fact that his mind doesn’t stray into fantasy land with Tom’s temporary replacement more than once or twice.

He’s only human, after all. Besides, it was during a boring report about re-evaluating prices in wine country or something like that.

Jensen doesn’t even feel bad.

 

~

 

 

Jensen’s job is hard. Scratch that – it’s fucking impossible, some days. Keeping all the parties happy and getting his point of view across – exhausting.

So, when he gets in the presidential limo, with its tinted windows and comfortable leather seats, he wants to relax. He wants to leave today’s problems  behind for a little while, to think about something other than precarious diplomatic relationships and smiling nicely at politicians he’d love to strangle.

He can’t relax, however, because he’s not alone.

There’s a presence he’s uncomfortably aware of, next to him at all times.

Tom Welling had been his shadow for two years, and during that whole time, the man had been an unremarkable presence – an agent, a good man, a conversation partner, filling a clearly defined role.

Then Tom had broken his leg in a skiing accident while on vacation and Danni had approved putting Padalecki in as a temporary replacement.

Jensen doesn’t like when his mind has a mind of its own.

He doesn’t like when his gaze lingers on the lines of Padalecki’s suit where it curves snugly around the agent’s broad shoulders and tapers around his waist. He doesn’t want to let himself admire the fit of Padalecki’s pants when the agent gets out of the car, or when he sits down and crosses one ankle across his other knee . And Jensen definitely scolds himself for surreptitiously studying the angular cheekbones and pink lips of his bodyguard when he thinks his scrutiny won’t be noticed.

He’s gotten into the habit of searching for Padalecki’s form in the crowd during excruciatingly dull events. The vigilant, intense way Padalecki watches the crowd makes something inside Jensen twist, come alive with need.

It’s not Padalecki’s fault. He’s professional. Alert, but not restrictive. Calm, with occasional bursts of colorful swear words.

Gorgeous, aware of it, and utterly indifferent to the effect he has on Jensen.

Who should be irreproachably above letting improper thoughts about his top Secret Service agent sneak into his free moments.

 

 

~

 

 

“Sir?”

Padalecki’s tone is quiet and smooth. It suits the melting of clear sky into evening. Jensen looks up from the paper he’s been reading for the last hour.

If he suddenly has a tighter grip on the edge of the folder – well, he can’t be blamed. _Sir_ sounds very different rolling off Padalecki’s tongue than Welling’s.

It might be in a foreign language, because Jensen just got lost in that voice, a biting invitation that goes straight to Jensen’s cock.

Motherf– when does Tom – straight, happily married – come back, again?

 “Yes,” Jensen says, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Padalecki. What’s up?”

Now is not the moment to bang his head against the wooden desk. He’ll do that later. Multiple times.

“Dann- Mrs. Harris instructed me to make sure you leave the convention center before dark,” Padalecki replies.

Jensen sighs. “You should tell Mrs. Harris I can take care of myself. And that I don’t need anyone to tell me when to stop working and go home.”

Never mind that being escorted everywhere is the freaking law. Danneel is having way too much fun with this.

“Right,” Padalecki acquiesces. “Still, she believes it’s late –“

It can’t be said that the man doesn’t do his job.

“That was final, Padalecki.”

Jensen’s tone is firm, and maybe just a bit on the side of harsh, but as much as he’d like to indulge himself, he’s not in a position where he can do that.

“Understood.”

Padalecki stands at attention, and, if Jensen didn’t know better, he’d say there was the slightest of smiles on his face.

“I’d appreciate if you’d wait outside.” Jensen gestures around the small office. “No windows, no other doors, nobody else here – I’m perfectly safe in a room by myself, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” And, with that, Padalecki’s off.

After the door to his office closes, Jensen breathes, long, deep – he feels like he’d been holding it in, like Padalecki sucked all the air of the room when he entered.

 

 

~

 

 

“I can’t talk to him.”

Danneel raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

They’re talking one of their customary walks through the gardens surrounding the White House. These walks are both a chance to decompress, to see something besides white walls, flags, and gloomy faces, and a chance to catch up with the most recent issues like old friends do, not President and Chief of Staff.

The matter at hand today is Padalecki.

Who’s walking merely ten feet in front of them.  Jensen lives a dangerous life.

“Normally. I can’t talk normally. It’s like – I run through all the options in my head, and somehow, the one that comes out of my mouth is the dumbest one.”

Danneel, in a practiced gesture, rolls her eyes at him.

“Come on, Jen. I saw you, you’re fine.”

“I know. Thankfully, my conversation skills haven’t disappeared completely. But it’s –“

“Annoying.”

Jensen stares at her.

“Not to have the upper hand,” she explains patiently.

“I don’t need to have the upper hand.”

“But you’re used to it.”

And yeah, maybe she is right – Jensen is used to walking in a room and all attention directed to him. He doesn’t particularly enjoy it or search for it, but by virtue of his position, people adopt a different stance around him.

Tom had, too. Granted, with a reverent attention to detail when it came to Jensen’s security, but, still.

Padalecki treats him like an ordinary person.

Like Jensen should be. He’s just not used to it.

“Eh. It’ll pass,” Jensen shrugs, deciding Danneel just isn’t going to understand the problem.

One thing that he will never admit to Danneel is how cracking Padalecki has become a personal challenge. He likes challenges – that ambitious streak is one of the qualities that helped him get elected, after all.

For now, he will ignore that when Padalecki turns around that Jensen’s instinct is to wave like a schoolgirl to her mom. Actually the challenge isn’t to break Padalecki – it’s to not make a complete idiot of himself in front of the man.

He is the goddamn president, after all.

 

 

~

 

 

Apparently the kickstarter to having a genuine conversation with Padalecki is a boring, sixteen hour trip on Air Force One.

“Is that broken?” Jensen asks.

Padalecki’s seated across from him, and there is a splint on the agent’s pinky finger.

Padalecki looks up, instinctively bringing his right hand to cover his left.

“Uh – just sprained,” he answers, a bit warily. “It’s not my firing hand,” he hurries to add.

“I wasn’t asking because of that. I thought – I would assume you get a day off.”

Padalecki curves his lips in a small smile.

“I didn’t want a day off.”

“And you don’t need it?”

“I can still do my job.”

Jensen lets a grin spread over his features.

“That so?”

“Yes. And, you need me,” Padalecki says slowly, testing the waters, but smirking.

“What makes you think that?”

If Jensen would be a less confident man, Padalecki’s words would have stung. As it is, he’s just amused.

“It’s the truth.”

Jensen doesn’t know what prompts him to take the conversation personal. “You know, I don’t even know if you have a first name.”

Padalecki looks briefly startled. Then smiles. “Jared. Jared Tristan.”

“Your mom liked the classics some, huh?”

“JT. That’s what everyone called me growing up in Texas.”

Jensen’s fascinated by all this new information.

“This is the most I think I’ve heard you talk.”

Jensen knows what he’s doing, or, rather, what he wants. Padalecki…well, he’s an uncertainty. Something that scares Jensen, but something that he can’t ignore – the feeling, deep down, when he sees Padalecki – he wants more of that.  

He never let bit of fear or doubt get in his way before, and he won’t now.

“I talk,” Padalecki answers, almost lazily, a drawl that promises, and Jensen could listen to whatever rolls off that tongue for a long time. “Just – “

“Not with the President.”

“Not with anyone that it is my duty to protect.”

Jensen’s curious. “Why?”

“Habit?”

“It can’t be just that,” Jensen doubts.

“It is,” Padalecki insists. “How I was trained. Minimal contact, focus on the matter at hand.”

Jensen grins. “One might argue I’m the matter at hand.”

The wave of surprise that crosses Padalecki’s face makes Jensen entirely too happy for a thirty-five-year-old man.

He does like having the upper hand.

“So. The finger,” Jensen changes the subject, suddenly feeling a lot more comfortable, knowing he can make Jared react. “How did that happen?”

“Wood-working.”

But Padalecki’s reply comes just a bit too quickly. Jensen doesn’t even need to say anything, before the agent corrects himself.

“I – goddamn it. I fell in the shower.”

“Why didn’t you say that first?”

It’s strange, seeing Padalecki’s momentary vulnerability, just a glimpse that confirms the theory that he isn’t a genetically engineered alien.

Padalecki doesn’t lower his gaze, or show any other sign of embarrassment, but his tone is decidedly lower when he replies.

“Because I’m supposed to be coordinated.”

Jensen laughs.

“I’d hope so.”

And Padalecki laughs too, small, contained, in a way that Jensen doesn’t know how to interpret.

The conversation flows easily after that, and suddenly, sixteen hours doesn’t seem all that much, given how much Jensen’s Secret Service agent does, in fact, like talking.

 

 

~

 

 

Slowly but surely over the next weeks, the part of Jensen’s mind that preoccupies himself with Jared settles down, slides into genuine interest for what the guy has to say rather than shameless fantasies.

“Remove your coat, sir.”

Well, not _all_ fantasies have left the building.

“Huh?” Jensen asks, returning from where his thoughts initially went. “Oh. Right. Bulletproof vest. Is this really necessary?”

Padalecki nods.

“It’s a volatile area. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst kind of thing.”

“It’s heavy.”

“It’s lighter than a bullet in your heart.”

Jensen arches an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t make sense, Padalecki.”

All he gets in response is a stern look, so Jensen decides to poke Jared a little.

“Besides, I assume you won’t let anything happen to me.”

“I do have to keep you alive till Welling comes back,” Padalecki concedes.

He’s smiling, picks up Jensen’s suit jacket from the back of the office chair, and holds it up for Jensen to slip into.

“And then?”

They’re close – close enough that Jensen’s intent stare meets Padalecki’s equally heated one.

“Then,“ Padalecki murmurs, voice lower than usual, “I’m no longer on your security team and I can do whatever I want.”

“I was under the impression you were doing that now.”

Padalecki’s eyes flash dangerously.

“I am,” he answers, and Jensen dares to believe that’s an outright lie.

Jensen can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine when Padalecki smooths out his collar.

Padalecki must feel it - his fingers linger at the base of Jensen’s neck just a second too long.

His eyes travel down to Jensen’s chest, to his arms, lower – just a momentary lapse until Padalecki snaps back into professional again.

“You’re good,” Padalecki says, voice scratchy and harsh.

Jensen nods, the feeling of warmth spreading through his body slowly.

All in all, for a man who’s going to face a rebellious army in an unstable country, he’s an unreasonably happy guy.

 

 

~

 

 

Things go off without a hitch.

Jensen doesn’t die. Nobody’s harmed.

Except, maybe, Jensen’s composure when Padalecki presses him into a wall, under the pretext of imminent danger or something equally vague like that.

Jensen isn’t the only one who isn’t exactly subtle.

 

 

~

 

 

“Tom,” Jensen exclaims. His overly enthusiastic greeting throws his old agent off a step.

“Mr. President,” Welling responds, slightly confused.

“How is your leg?” Jensen asks, even though that is not the question he wants to ask right now.

“Fine. They gave me the all clear to come back.”

“Good,” Jensen says, pointlessly, already thinking about calling Danneel. “Glad you’re back, Tom,” he adds, so he doesn’t feel like a complete asshole.

“Glad to be back, sir.”

 Jensen feels like a teenager as he steps into the washroom and calls Danneel to ask where Padalecki has been transferred.

 

 

~

 

 

“So, you’re on vacation, huh?” Jensen asks a surprised Padalecki, standing in jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt in his own yard.

“Ten days, yeah.”

The look on Jared’s face is _what the hell is the President doing here?_ but he’s definitely not going to give Jensen the satisfaction of saying it out loud.

“Job taking a toll?”

“Protecting the President is hard,” Padalecki says, offering him a beer.

Jared’s too casual. It’s awkward – Jensen’s dressed in his usual official business clothes, but Jared out-of-uniform looks even better than he did in his well-fitted suit –Jensen can see all the muscles the long sleeves of a shirt just hinted at.

“You’re in my back yard,” Padalecki says, stating the obvious, and determinedly ignoring the four Secret Service men securing the area.

He walks over to a lounge chair, relaxes his long body into it, legs crossing at the ankles, and gestures for Jensen to sit as well.

“I wanted to talk.”

“I thought we talked already,” Padalecki replies, imperceptible smirk in place.

“We did.”

“So?” Padalecki rasps, an invitation that simmers with anticipation.

“You’re not on my protection detail anymore.”

“I’m on Mrs. Harris’ starting next Monday.”

“I’m aware.” Jensen would take a moment to thank the random luck of the universe, except he knows luck had nothing to do with it.

“What do you want, Mr. President?” Padalecki asks, when Jensen’s silence lasts too long.

It’s a question that demands too many answers.

“Nothing specific.”

It’s honest enough. Jensen doesn’t expect anything.

He likes Jared’s company.

He hopes it could become more, but that doesn’t take away the fact that he enjoys having Jared around.

“And yet, you’re here.” Jared says that without confusion or consternation. On the contrary, he seems pleased. “Should I invite you in the house?”

“Later,” Jensen answers, leaning back in the chair. “I’m good right now.”

“ _Good_ ,” Jared repeats, suddenly getting up.

It’s the slightest bit awkward, like the gesture wasn’t planned, just an impulse. He comes in front of Jensen, leans down.

“You know,” he whispers, so close that Jensen can feel the heat coming off him. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do since I first saw you.”

Jensen barely breathes.

Jared anchors himself on one of the chair handles, leaning down, he’s inches away from Jensen’s face, and Jensen _wants_ , with all his body, with everything.

It’s a small miracle that he manages to find coherence.

“Wait,” he rasps out, putting a hand on Jared’s hip. “Why?”

Jensen has no false notion of why _he_ is doing this. It’s an indulgent moment in a life that’s organized to the minute. It’s fun, it’s freedom, it’s whatever it can be. He’s learned, over the years, to let things be… to keep a level head by letting all emotions run through him, understanding that balance exists only in acknowledging they exist, that they guide him, one way or another.

This is precaution.

As much as he feels it’s a good thing – he needs a clear answer.

Jared stares at him intently. “I think my answer will change things,” he says, finally.

It’s firm, but so quiet in tone that Jensen guesses he’s not the only one with a cautious streak. This is a moment that matters, time waiting for truth.

“Because…you,” Jared whispers.

“That’s not clear enough.”

Jensen realizes he could be a notch in the bedpost to some power junkie. He thinks, hopes, that’s not what this is to Jared. For a moment, he feels almost foolish for daring to believe this is something else.

“You. Jensen. Mr. Ackles. Mr. President.”

“Which, Jared?

Jared looks into his eyes when he answers.

“Everything.”

That’s good.

Good enough that Jensen doesn’t care about anything but fisting a hand in Padalecki’s t-shirt, pulling him down for a kiss.

Jensen closes his eyes, and the world fades away.

Maybe it reshapes itself, it changes to one where the possibility of _this_ exists.

 

 

 


End file.
